


Prussian blues

by Hashilavalamp



Series: We reap what we sow [8]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Gen, Illustrated, Thoughts about death, brother bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 09:03:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7678297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hashilavalamp/pseuds/Hashilavalamp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything has to come to an end one day, but Prussia has never been known to give in easily. And the time has come for him to address this matter with Germany, whether they want to or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prussian blues

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man, we've reached the very last part of We reap what we sow! I can't believe I managed to stick with this project, I'm usually so unreliable but I was really dedicated to this series. Thank you so much for support!   
> There will be a collection of stories set in the same canon as this story, like "the moments in between", but the main story line ends here. I really hope you will enjoy this! <3

**Present day**

The gravel scrunches beneath Gilbert’s polished shoes as he strolls down the paths of the graveyard; he’s dressed in his very best suit despite the humid summer air, his hair is neatly combed, the dark circles under his eyes are covered with powder he refuses to admit he used, so he no longer looks like ‘a mess’, to borrow the words of a Frenchman who shall not be named.   
Admittedly he’s not been this well-put together in a long time, but he figured it would only be right to show up at his best – a former nation paying a former citizen his respects. There’s so few of them left, if those who remember him as Prussia, as the man he truly was and is, that he can feel it when one of them passes.

The ceremony was a small one, attended only by family members. Quiet affair too. Nobody had tried to talk to him when he’d shown up and watched as the casket was lowered into the ground, as if they had been expecting him somehow, the man with skin just a shade too dark to be albino and eyes too red to be anything else.   
Once the humans left, it was only Gilbert and the silent gravestone so he spoke a short prayer, placed a lone flower among the bouquets the family left, asked himself for a moment if this one was one of those he rescued from the field, and turned his back as well. A prayer was all he could give now anyway and sentimentalities are no good for him. Reminiscing may be all he does lately but that doesn’t make it good.

And now he doesn’t want to go home again.

It’s a bit silly maybe, but home feels too big and too empty when Ludwig is out and about and doing things, working for a future and generally having a purpose, and the others don’t answer Gilbert’s calls half of the time because they’ve got things to do as well, “ _we’re not here to entertain you, Gilbert_ ”. It kind of really sucks. A lot. It made him lethargic and obnoxious and then people wanted to be around him even less.  
And at least being outside here has some sort of sense, some illusion of a purpose. The last act of a nation he has to give, a visit and a prayer, a dead man among his kind. There’s poetry in that, right? Another one of these things Gilbert wishes he had been better at already for Friedrich’s sake, but there’s things even he couldn’t learn.

His legs begin to hurt after a while because he’s been up and about without sitting down once all day, so he decides that taking a break here won’t be too big a crime – the perfect excuse for sticking around, for staying here.   
It’s a little breather, a welcome little break from reality, just like that time last summer when he said goodbye to Ludwig and began his journey back to the broken little house in East Prussia. Well, East Prussia no longer. (Try telling his heart that though) Just as they had left it, crumbling from neglect, silent as a grave. Some old blood splatters Gilbert hadn’t managed to remove back then.

It had been so tranquil.

With a sigh, Gilbert plops down on the bench, knowing it’ll leave wrinkles in his suit so he carefully takes off the jacket and gingerly folds it up next to him. He then slumps in on himself a little more, knowing that it’s probably going to get him some weird looks from the few people out here but not caring all too much.   
He already knows he’s being ridiculous. A grown man who can’t stand to be alone for a day or two, that _is_ pretty pathetic, and to hang out at a graveyard because it feels peaceful is just morbid. So whatever it is people are going to think of him, there’s a pretty good chance they’re right.

An obsolete relic drowning in self-pity.

Gilbert watches the passersby with half-lidded eyes; a man walking his tiny dog, a jogger or two, old couples looking for where they’d like to have their graves together one day. Two teenage girls pick their way through the rows of gravestones and speak in hushed whispers, pointing out the most tragic fates they can find to one another based on the dates inscribed in the stone’s surface and their state of maintenance.   
Funny how some tragedies can be compressed into numbers alone.

The girls fall silent and watch warily whenever somebody draws close, continuing only once they feel like nobody is going to judge their behavior as unsettling or irreverent.   
Eventually they spot him and fall into the same grave silence as they had with other people, regarding him with a trace more skepticism, so Gilbert shrugs and demonstratively pulls out his phone from his jacket to open up one of the many mindless games he’d downloaded onto it. He’s not any more respectful than they’re being.

After a while the two cautiously move on. Look, this one – only lived to 20.

Gilbert has compressed his own tragedy into a number of recordings and videos for Ludwig to find one day.

Gilbert proceeds to listlessly tap on his phone’s screen even once the kids are gone, already because it gives him something less creepy to do than watch other people and because it keeps his mind from wandering deeper into darker topics. He’s got a missed call for once, but he doesn’t feel like reconnecting with that part of reality just yet. Not when he’s got virtual cats to feed and when the world around him feels so blissfully distant and unreal with the strangely dull light of noon and the slight fog that leaves the edges of everything looking softened and fuzzy.

He hardly notices that an hour passes.

And then another one.

After another half an hour, he gets company so that’s the end of that.

“May I sit here?”

With a heavy sigh and an irritated smile, Gilbert picks up his suit jacket, dusts it off carefully, and scoots a bit to the side to make enough space for his brother to sit down.

“How did you find me?” he asks once Ludwig has settled down, not sparing him a glance because maybe if he doesn’t look at him he doesn’t feel the misery that’s finally crept out of the crevice of his brain, trickling slowly into his bloodstream.

“You left a note, brother.”

“…Did I. Oh.”

Well there’s that. Ludwig doesn’t comment on it further and Gilbert appreciates the silence even though he can’t really go back into his former mental state anymore. The world has come into focus again, no more cotton fills his head.

He risks a single glance; Ludwig is staring straight ahead with an unreadable expression and his posture is stiff, hands laced together and resting in his lap. Mirroring Gilbert’s pose, just not slouching.

Gilbert nudges him in the side with a tired grin. “What brought you here though?” he questions further, and Ludwig looks back at him for a moment before he looks up to the trees on the other side, beyond the graves.   
“You didn’t come home so I figured I should check whether something held you up” Ludwig answers. “I—didn’t really know how long the ceremony would take or how long you’d stay, so I. waited until now. I didn’t want to intrude.”

The German’s hands fidget just a bit, betraying his discomfort, and Gilbert cannot help but laugh quietly and lean against his brother’s side. “The ceremony was over pretty quick. I just felt like being outside here a little longer” he explains, not expecting Ludwig to understand, not yet. As expected all he gets in response is a confused look from his brother, which is nearly identical to his annoyed expression but Gilbert is familiar with all the subtle nuances of Germany’s expressions. They haven’t really changed a bit since his childhood after all.

They fall back into silence, but this one is heavier and Gilbert scowls when he realizes it’s heavy not because it’s awkward but because he actually wants to _talk_. Too many words in his throat that have built up because he never had the gall to say them.

Poetry and emotional honesty, Gilbert’s greatest weaknesses.

The Prussian rises to his feet in an elegant motion, twirls just a bit to face his brother who is watching him with a guarded expression but follows suit after a moment of hesitation. Side by side they walk for a bit, hedges on one side and the dead on the other, with the gravel scrunching beneath their polished shoes. Gilbert thinks of the recordings again, and the videos. He had them digitalized a while ago, and in the process he’d been forced to listen to himself ramble and make a fool out of himself and he’d been tempted to destroy them all for a moment. Especially the one from 1940.

“Ludwig.”

That’s a start, and his voice isn’t even trembling!

“Ludwig, can we talk about it.”

Ludwig pauses in his confident stride, and he turns his head slightly to meet Gilbert’s eye, expression blank again but face paler than usual. He’s got some freckles back again. “If you wish.”

Gilbert sighs and kicks at the little pebbles in his path.

“I’m sorry for… just doing weird things. And I don’t just mean hanging out at a cemetery for no discernible reason, I mean… Everything, like wandering off _without_ leaving notes, or just buying things impulsively on the Internet, or making a complete idiot of myself in front of other people. Like right now. Fuck, I’m acting and sounding like I’m the younger brother–” Gilbert says in a rush, the words too eager to come out for his mouth, and a nervous energy in his chest compels him to start laughing again but he doesn’t want to concern Ludwig any further.   
And a look tells him that he is already giving him a pinched look, his brows furrowed but eyes uncharacteristically soft. And he doesn’t speak at first, for a whole eternity it feels in which Gilbert wishes he’d kept his damn mouth shut. Ludwig doesn’t need to know anything about his mental state until he’s actually six feet under and can’t feel humiliated anymore.

“Sorry if… I gave you that feeling?” Ludwig eventually ventures, the words carrying uncertainty if you listen closely enough. Apologies from Ludwig always sound like a question if he’s not muttering them with childish defiance, and yet Gilbert knows he means it. “I know I am a bit rough on you, so if that is the issue, I apologize for it because it’s not my intention.”

Gilbert punches him in the upper arm, not sure how else to express the sudden rush of embarrassment – when all else fails, just punch. Worked pretty well for him throughout his life.

“Grow a spine Ludwig and acknowledge when I’m being an ass, yeah?” Gilbert mutters, because they’ve discussed the whole spine thing to hell and back. “It’s not your fault, it’s because I shouldn’t be behaving like this in the first place.”

Ludwig sighs and presses his lips into a thin line, his brow crinkling further the way it does whenever he’s about to scold somebody for acting out of line, but he keeps his mouth shut. He won’t argue this for once, thank God.

“It’s really just me. I am just not really good at accepting the facts” Gilbert continues and he can sense Ludwig tensing up at the words because it’s the closest they’ve gotten in a long time to addressing Gilbert’s state. It’s easy to treat him like any other nation on any other day, but then he does things like this and the illusion crumbles, and usually Gilbert does everything in his might to ensure that this moment doesn’t come for Ludwig.

“I said some pretty horrible things to you in the past because I was so terrified of dying – so damn scared. I left you in a crowd of panicked humans and pretended you weren’t there when I first found you just because I got it in my head that it could kill me— what kind of asshole does that? And I just still can’t really…” Gilbert needs to pause, licks his dry lips in the hopes that he can stall long enough for Ludwig to call it off and say he doesn’t want to keep talking about this. But he’s the big brother, he can’t and shouldn’t chicken out of this.

“Still can’t really imagine it happening to me. And I don’t want to. Can’t imagine myself fading like the others even though I’ve already carried other nations to the grave. I made fun of them for wanting something that was going to cost them their lives and then they were just - gone.”

Maybe he should’ve phrased that less in a way that made it sound like it was Ludwig’s fault.

“Oh, sometimes I feel like Bayern is still out lurking somewhere. The scar is back at least” Ludwig says suddenly in all seriousness with a comically dark expression, and for some reason, that is enough to make Gilbert laugh out loud, unrestrained. The seriousness and the absurdity of it, and then Ludwig’s petulant tone.  

“Fucking bastard“ Gilbert says breathlessly, burying his face in his hands and trying to not sound hysterical. “Of course he’d outlive me. All you other guys outliving me, I can handle that, but him? Cruel twist of fate. Did you know he’s a little bit at fault for you having the name Ludwig?”

Ludwig blinks away his concerned expression as if he can’t quite follow the shift in tone of the conversation but still wants to make a valiant effort. “I thought it was because you wanted to spite Francis. I remember that moment quite well.”

“Well of course, that was a stroke of genius on my part, but the name was already among the ones I was seriously considering” Gilbert admitted, internally both glad and mad at himself for going off topic like this, but he’s a sentimental man after all if he’s honest with himself and talking about their shared memories is better than talking about death.  
“You see, Bayern was being the most stubborn out of them all about letting _me_ raise you and no matter what I said, he wouldn’t budge. So I told him I’d name you after his king to placate him. Which I didn’t really intend to do at the time, but then… you know what came then.”

Ludwig gives a weak chuckle and finally they start walking again. “That was unfair of you, if typical.”

“I did end up doing it, did I not? And besides, I did a lot of things back then that were unfair” Gilbert reminds him, still carrying a smile as nostalgia begins to wash away the fear, mixing in curious ways with the misery.

“You did. But as you would tell me: sometimes you need to sacrifice ideals if the goal is worth it.”

“And it was worth it in this case.”

Ludwig tenses again as if in protest, so Gilbert punches him again, taking a shuddering breath. “How about you just accept what I say when I’m trying to express that I don’t regret raising you?”

Ludwig mutters a little ‘ow’ and rubs his arm, nearly pouting – this is better. Pouting petulant Ludwig and older brother Gilbert who gets to chide him for it, that’s more like it. _Don't steal cookies, don't climb on trees, don't disobey your brother._ At least Ludwig still doesn’t argue, which means that Gilbert can continue digging up old, dusty memories like the proper old man he is.

“Do you remember what else I told you that time?” he asks softly as the images resurface, and he knows Ludwig does the second his blue eyes light up bright with emotion.

“You said…”

“ _’Ich bin der Kopf des Reiches, du das Herz’_ “ the Prussian finishes for him, pleased that Ludwig hadn’t forgotten it because it was one of the few times when Gilbert had managed to vocalize some of his affection in a way that wasn’t theatrical. Again, emotional honesty, not his forte, and even that time it was in a roundabout, indirect manner, skirting around the issue against his own virtues.

“ _’I’m the mind of the empire, you the heart’_ ” Ludwig repeats almost pensively, his look distant for a second before he focuses back into reality and looks Gilbert in the face. “As upset as I was that day, it made me really happy that you said that.”

This time it is Gilbert who blinks owlishly, cheeks quickly coloring red with embarrassment at the direct admission and the reverent tone. “It was just something to shut you up” he lies quickly to cover it up, and Ludwig looks just as embarrassed as he himself feels.   
“Well. It meant a lot to me back then. I felt like I wasn’t getting anything right so…” Ludwig doesn’t finish the sentence, and coughs instead.

Silence-relapse.

Gilbert rubs his hands together, careful to not drop his suit jacket, and he hangs his head low as he continues to speak “You were angry that I was being too pragmatic and I was angry because your idealism wasn’t applicable to reality because you were a naïve… you were a little shit.” - Ludwig nods solemnly - “And I suppose I rubbed off on you in the worst of ways in that regard, and that’s why Prussia produced Bismarck and Germany produced Nazis.”

Ludwig for a second looks like he’s going to slap him.   
But he doesn’t.  
Just looks at him with a pained expression and Gilbert feels horrible for making that impulsive comment.

“Brother” the German says warningly and a nervous chuckle comes out of Gilbert’s throat unbidden again. “Sorry. Sorry I just sometimes I still feel bitter. Because I know I’ve got not just a small part in that as well. I made… a lot of mistakes back then when I raised you. Though it’s not my fault you look like Hitler’s wet dream—“

“Brother! That’s just _disgusting._ ”

“I’ll cut it out, sorry. That’s what I meant by acting weird. I’m babbling like an idiot and spending too much time dwelling on stupid thoughts and then I feel angry and vindictive and bitter. And I take it out on you _again_! That’s why I felt I needed to… get away for a while today.”

He hastens his pace once the words are out so he can draw ahead of Ludwig and won’t have to directly see the repercussions of the confession, but Ludwig catches up with nearly no delay and eventually blocks Gilbert’s path – the little paths in the graveyard aren’t very broad, but Ludwig is, so Gilbert can’t make an easy escape. The blond looks pretty determined, but Gilbert knows he’s not able to meet his eye and his speech falters when he tries to reprimand his older brother.

“That was awful, Gilbert. But please don’t spend your free time in graveyards.” And it sounds almost pleading. “I don’t want to think about this. About you dying. I know I said we can talk about this but I can’t after all. It’s something that will happen, and I know that, but there’s not really anything that either of us can do about it. Talking about it is… excessive.”

Gilbert takes a deep breath of relief. Now they can go back to ignoring it, and Ludwig can go back to being a functional member of society and Gilbert can make more recordings because in comparison it’s so much easier to say “I’m proud of you” when the person in question isn’t right in front of you.

They’ve almost reached the gate now and Gilbert swallows around the lump in his throat, the miserable sentimentality and nostalgia, the shared memories. There’s still something he needs to get out, some last few words lodged in his windpipe. Just behind the vocal cords.

“I really don’t want to die.”

Ludwig doesn’t respond at first again, and his words are so quiet that Gilbert nearly misses them. “…I don’t want you to die either. I can’t let go.” The way he says it is like a scared child, the child Ludwig hardly got to be, like he can barely admit it to himself.

The Prussian breathes more easily again, some of the weight on his shoulders leaving him and his breathing no longer obstructed by unspoken words.  

“That makes two of us then.”

He puts one arm around his brother and pulls them both to the exit, suddenly very eager to get away from this place. Of course some part of him knows that this is not how it should be. That he should be in bed and dying like his siblings had before him. That it’s unhealthy that they can’t let go, but he can’t help but be glad. Glad that he is still here, glad that something keeps him anchored among the living, that he others haven’t forgotten him and make it possible for him to miss calls, glad that Ludwig needs him still.   
They’re two men who don’t know how to move on.

  


 

Out of all things in the world, dying is the thing Gilbert is worst at. 

.

.

.

(Gilbert finds at home that his brother bought him a little gift - a rubber duck, a special “Friedrich the Great”-version. It’s awful, but it makes his heart ache with love and he keeps it among all the other things Ludwig has given him over the decades, every drawing and every little trinket, along with the old, well-maintained coat that no longer carries the scent of its old wearer, but Gilbert holds on to it anyway. Holds on to all the little pieces.)

**Author's Note:**

> "Everything has an end, only sausage has two" - ancient German proverb.


End file.
